Conversations
by Melwasul
Summary: A scene a year after the Dark Knight. Batman and Gordon have a conversation. Will something be revealed? Oneshot.


"…and that's all we got so far on this guy. Oh, and that he calls himself the Riddler."

"I'll look into it."

They fell into a companionable silence. Gordon had half expected Batman to leave silently in the middle of his sentence as he so often did. Instead the man in question looked like a stone gargoyle, standing quietly on the roof of the MCU. Suddenly Batman spoke again, this time without the usual growl in his voice.

"It's been a year since she died."

The statement took Gordon by surprise and it took him a while to come up with a response.

"You mean Rachel Dawes? She was an excellent attorney."

Batman stood quietly for a while.

"It should have been Dent who died that night, not Rachel." Batman said suddenly sounding bitter and angry.

"Yes, well. We didn't know what was going to happen. There was nothing we could have done differently." Gordon said cautiously. He still blamed himself for not being quick enough to save her. He didn't know if Batman blamed him as well.

"I should have known! I should have known Joker would lie! I should have been able to save her!"

"And I should have been faster! Blame me if you want to blame someone." Gordon suddenly yelled. This seemed to stun Batman into silence.

"Listen to us. It's like history is repeating itself… It's just… I miss her." Batman said quietly and before Gordon could reply he had jumped from the roof and disappeared into the darkness. Gordon stood in the sudden silence and wondered about the strange conversation. The detective inside him also raised its head. What exactly was Rachel Dawes to Batman? And where do I know his real voice? He realized Batman had given him clues to discovering his identity. But did he do it on purpose? And did Gordon really want to know?

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Two weeks later Gordon was staring at a gun pointed directly at him. It was a hostage situation gone horribly wrong. _Well at least the hostages are safe. _Gordon thought to himself glumly. This was it. The end of his life. He had always known it would happen sooner or later. Still… _I hope Barbara and the kids will be alright… _The man holding the gun removed the safety catch. Gordon could see him flexing his index finger. He closed his eyes as something black flashed before him. The gunshot echoed in the air, but for some reason Gordon didn't feel anything. _Dying must be quicker than I thought… _

"Damn it!" "Where did he come from?!"

Gordon opened his eyes quickly and saw Batman whirling between the thugs. _He saved me. Again. _Batman quickly disarmed the thugs and the GCPD arrived on the scene. As they detained the thugs Gordon scanned the hotel lobby and saw a flash of black disappear through a door that led to the back alley. He ensured his men he was alright and quickly left to find Batman. He wanted to thank him even though he knew it was useless.

The alley was dark and gritty like most alleys in Gotham. It took him a while to localize Batman and when he did he started running. Batman was staggering dangerously and promptly fell on the ground as soon as Gordon reached him. His breathing was ragged and even in the dim light Gordon saw that his torso was covered in blood.

"Oh my God!" Gordon tried to see where all the blood was coming from. There was a hole in the body armor, right in the solar plexus. A bullet hole.

"Oh my God." Gordon repeated again and tried to apply pressure to the wound while fumbling with his police radio.

"No!" Batman rasped and swatted the radio away.

"You need medical attention!" Gordon tried to reason.

"No." Batman repeated again. He sounded very tired.

"I can't help you alone. You could die!"

"No."

"I have to do something!" Gordon pleaded.

"Tell… Tell Alfred I'm sorry." Batman said and closed his eyes.

"No!" Gordon desperately tried to find a pulse. It was still there, but it was weak. Very weak.

"Alfred? Who's Alfred?" He wrecked his brain. The conversation two weeks ago… Rachel… Suddenly an image from the past swam into his mind. A lone little boy clinging to his father's coat while an English butler tried to console the little boy.

"Wayne?" Gordon flipped open his cellphone and rapidly dialed a number.

"Mr. Wayne's residence." A British drawl answered almost immediately.

"This is Commissioner Gordon. Our… mutual friend is in dire need of help."

"…I see. Where can I pick you up?"

Gordon told the address. _Hang in there Batm- Bruce. Help is on the way_.


End file.
